“He’d taken him, see? Grice had been in the country years—Boer War, trading, diamond finding, ivory—all sorts of things. Sort o’ chap down on his luck and then up again. But he knew a lot—he was a useful man. Spoke most of the dialects and understood handling natives. Templeton picked him up at Johannesburg, and got him to go with him. Poor wretch! Never thought he’d bring him back.” “What was the matter?” “Lots. Broken arm, fever, and all sorts of complications. They’d had to carry him on a stretcher for a week or more. Thin as a lath. I had a few drugs—they’d nothing left—and did what I could. But he looked like pegging out pretty soon.” “Did he?” “I’ll tell you. Templeton, you see, was in a hurry to get on. Don’t wonder. Grice was at death’s door, and he had to leave him. There was something or other first—Grice’s will, I fancy. Anyhow, Templeton was with him a long time the day before he left, and then called me and Ottery—Colonel Ottery, you know, who was shooting with me—to witness Grice’s signature. “The next morning Templeton left. We’d rigged him out a bit, and gave him what we could spare. We knew he’d be all right. I promised him I’d give Grice a decent burial.” “And——” “No, we didn’t. One of my men—Zulu, he was—asked to take him in hand—uncle had been a medicine man, and he knew something about it, what? Queer things they know sometimes about herbs and so on, pretend they’re magic, of course. The poor wretch was so far gone that it didn’t seem to matter, so I let the chap take him in hand. Poured a scalding hot drink down his throat, put white powder in his eyes—rubbed him down—all sorts of things. But it answered. Before we broke up that camp, Superintendent, Grice was walking about again.” “What happened to him?” “I brought him down to Cape Town and set him on his legs. He’d got a bit of cash. Templeton had paid him a lump sum down before he took him, and he’d banked it. Anyhow, he said he should stay at Cape Town for a bit till he was strong again—so there he is.” “Sir James,” said the superintendent, “I’m most greatly obliged to you—more than I can say. But we must have Grice here—as soon as possible. How shall we get him?” “You haven’t a charge against him?” “No, no. It’s not a question of bringing him over on an extradition warrant. He must come of his own accord. We want him at once. But there’s a difficulty.” “What’s that, eh?” “He left this town twenty years ago, when he got into trouble. He was not prosecuted, but it might make him suspicious.” Sir James Perrivale thought a moment. “Tell me, Superintendent, in confidence, of course, is it anything to do with Templeton’s murder, because it looks like it to me, what?” “Yes, it is. Grice may help us materially in getting on the track of our man. That’s why we want him.” “Tell you what, then. I always liked Templeton—queer chap though he was. I’ll help you. Grice will listen to me. I’ll cable for him to come over by the next boat—and cable him the passage.”